Heavier.
Her shoulders burned.
“Do you accept that queenship requires the bride’s will to become indistinguishable from the crown’s?”
Sabine’s breath caught.
The chain was crushing now.
She looked at Lucien.
He was rigid with the effort of not moving.
Then Sabine remembered Isolde’s music.
Timing.
Rhythm.
Answer in the language the chamber could hear.
She spoke in High Veyran, using the cadence from the copied score.
“I accept partnership. Mutual burden. Shared sovereignty. The bride’s will joined to the crown’s, not consumed by it.”
The chain stopped growing heavier.
It did not lighten.
But it stopped.
The room noticed.
Serast noticed.
Maelor stepped forward, frowning.
Sabine held the chain and finished the questions in old language, each answer pulling from the foundation chapel, the revised Trial of Surrender vow, and Isolde’s hidden testimony.
When the final question ended, she released the chain.
Her hands were bruised, but she was standing.
Corvek recorded passage.
Serast looked as if he wanted to declare the trial invalid but could not find procedural grounds.
The final station required the remaining brides to question each other once.
Sacred witness.
Public interrogation.
Yselle was permitted to question Sabine first.
She crossed the platform with perfect posture and stopped close enough that her voice would not need to carry.
“Do you believe wanting the prince makes you worthy of the crown?”
